Friday, October 26, 2007


Sit, my friend,
drawing loose tongue
into deep laps of bubbling intoxication
whilst I illuminate the possibilities.

- a ghost story, then…
superficially corrosive to logic
bolstering the wonder-path
overactive imagination
thrust undulating and diluted
into the murky crust of darkness.
We see…we think…
we hear quick light footsteps on the ceiling
perhaps a servant girl
-yes…gone down
into rat infested bowels of a Tudor manor house,
where the good doctor buried
rotting flesh of his wily mistress
concealing their infidelity from an unhealthy wife.

A flash and flicker, then
no – gunfire!
The heavy role and tumble
shattered skull,
clumsily careening
down damp wooden stairs.

Ah yes…then to summon the spirit –
by faith – not prayer,
or, perchance the unholy séance…
specter of Dashiell Hammet,
nay – Sherlock Holmes…
or maybe just a hint of Jessica Fletcher
For sincerity,
to calm the taut
fine fingering nerve-strings
my caustic violin heart
quickening as though by arsenic…

…the same as in your champagne flute -

Dear guest,
You are the murder tonight
@Nick Zegarac 2007 (all rights reserved).

Monday, October 08, 2007


…she would have hated that.
As though, from spite –
Not so, my love.
Affections naturally blue and coursing
as dropped reposes from each beaded vein.
Eternally yours.
Bearing strange witness
to those pierced flashes of aubergine,
the hemlock flickering
deep within,
gorgeous window-shaded lashes
barring entry to her soul.
too much
the unveiling –
not even notoriety’s noose constricts,
faint tabloid kisses lipsticked wet –
a Trojan’s promise
ever made honestly,
from the divine…
rapturous innocence,
womanhood most childlike
- than real
and likened to sport
at playing mistress
amidst uncut yards of glistening celluloid.
Roll film…
and break the tethered heart strings once more.
Oh, Nile-breathed goddess –
…the shadow of your smile refrains.
@Nick Zegarac 2007 (all rights reserved).